He marched one month till Sháh and troops were
weary.
At length he reached a mount where he beheld not
A man or beast. Its peak he saw to be
Of lapis-lazuli and thereupon
A palace built of topazes, with lustres
Of crystal everywhere, and in the middle
A fount of brackish water. A ruby served
For lamp and lighted palace, mount, and heights;
The light fell on the water, and the jewel
Illumed the palace like the sun. Beside
The fount was set a double golden throne
Where lay a hapless one with human body
And with a wild boar's head—a helpless corpse
On that fine throne. His couch beneath was camphor,
And o'er him spread a mantle of brocade.

Whoever went to carry aught away,
Or even trod the dust upon the floor,
Died in convulsions on the spot. A cry
Came from that briny fount: “O slave of greed!
Be not so mad. Much hast thou seen that none
Besides hath seen. 'Tis time to draw thy rein
Because thy life is ending, and thy throne
Of sovereignty is going all astray.”
Sikandar feared, turned him about apace,
And came back to his camp as swift as smoke.
He marched thence quickly, wailing and invoking
The name of God, then from that mountain took
The desert-route in dudgeon and concerned
About his life. All sorrow and in tears
He went with troops behind and guides before
Till, by that desert-route, he reached a city,
And joyed to hear the voice of men. The land
Was all a garden, gladding to delight
The heart of man. The magnates of the city—
The men of valour—went to welcome him;
All praised him, showering on him gold and gems,
And said: “O Sháh! how blesséd 'tis that thou
Shouldst traverse thus our coasts! No host before
E'er visited this city, none of us
E'er heard the name of Sháh, but now that thou
Hast come our souls are thine, and mayst thou be
In spirit lucid and in body hale.”
Sikandar gladdened in his heart at them.
He rested from the desert-march, and asked:—
“Of marvel what is there for me to note?”
The guides thus answered: “O victorious Sháh,
And pure of rede! there is a wonder here,
Whose match none in the world of small and great
E'er hath beheld—a tree with double trunk—
A marvel manifest. One trunk is female,
The other male; they speak, have boughs, and flourish.
At night the female yieldeth speech and perfume,
The male doth speak by day.”

Sikandar went

With cavaliers of Rúm and native chiefs
Of whom he asked: “This tree—when speaketh it
Aloud?” The interpreter replied: “One trunk
Will talk or ever day's ninth hour hath passed,
So that the auspicious Sháh will hear its voice.
When it is night the female trunk will speak;
Its foliage will savour as 'twere musk.”

The Sháh asked: “When we pass the tree, good friend!
What marvel meet we then?”

“Of going further,”

The interpreter replied, “there is no question.
There is no place beyond it, and guides call it
‘The World's End.’”

Then the blest Sháh with his Rúmans

Set forward. When he reached the speaking tree
The ground was seething hot, and all its surface
Was hid by beasts' skins.

“What are these, and who

Hath torn beasts thus?” he asked of his informant,
Who said: “The tree hath many devotees,
Who, if they hunger while engaged in worship,
Feed on the flesh of beasts.”

When Sol attained

The apex of heaven's vault Sikandar heard
Aloft a cry proceeding from the leaves
Of that tall tree—an awful, boding cry.
He feared and asked of the interpreter:—
“Shrewd, trusty friend! what say the talking leaves,
Because they bathe my heart in lymph of blood?”
The guide replied: “O favourite of fortune!
The leaves upon the boughs of this tree say:—
‘Why doth Sikandar roam so o'er the world,
For he hath had his portion of good things,
And, when he shall have reigned for twice seven years,
Must quit the throne of sovereignty?”

Sikandar

Wept tears of blood; the guide's words wrung his heart.
Thenceforth he spake to no one, but remained
All sorrowful till midnight. Then the leaves
Upon the other trunk gave utterance.
Again the Sháh asked of his friendly guide:—
“What is it that the other branches say?”
Thus his informant solved the mystery:—
“The female branches say: ‘Thou travailest
In this wide world for greed and for addition.
Why torture thus thy soul? It is thy passion
To go about the world, afflicting folk
And slaying kings. Thou hast not long to live;
Do not thyself cloud and contract thy days.’”
The great king asked of the interpreter:—
“O good, discerning man! inquire if I
Shall be in Rúm when my dark day shall come,
And if my mother see me not alive
Will she at last enshroud this face of mine?”
The speaking tree said to the Sháh: “Be speedy,
And bind the baggage on. Thy mother, kindred
In Rúm, and face-veiled ladies there will look

On thee no more. Death in an alien land
Will come ere long, crown, diadem, and throne
Grow tired of thee.”

He heard and left the tree,

Heart-stricken by the scimitar of fortune.
When he reached camp the noble native chiefs
Went home and, when they had made ready gifts,
Came hurrying to the Sháh. There were a breastplate,
Resplendent as the Nile and wide and broad
As is an elephant's hide, two elephant-tusks
Five cubits long—a toil to lift—mail-coats
And rich brocade, and, made of solid gold,
A hundred eggs, each weighing sixty mans*

If weighed as drachms, and a rhinoceros
In gold and gems. Accepting these he led
His host away and tears—his heart's blood—shed.